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An Anguillan pumpum

Lloyd knows just how to handle an Anguillan pumpum. Photo by David Lansing.

“What’s that pretty flower called?” Luscious asked Lloyd.

“Which one?”

“The little purple one.”

Lloyd picked the flower and held it delicately in his hand. “What do you think it looks like?” he said.

I think Luscious had something in mind but she didn’t want to say it, so I said it instead: “It looks like, you know, a lady’s private parts.”

Lloyd nodded. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Usually only the women figure that out.”

He held the flower closer to Luscious so she could have a good look. “Ohmygawd,” she said, “it does!”

“It’s called the pumpum flower,” said Lloyd. “You know why it’s called the pumpum?”

We all knew but none of us were going to say it.

“Because that’s the island nickname for clitoris. You tell an Anguillan woman you’ve just seen a beautiful pumpum and she’s either going to blush or slap your face.”

We headed back to Cap Juluca for lunch at their beach café, Blue. I sat down and Gloria, who likes to tease me whenever she can, came over with the lunch menu. “Did you have a good morning?” she asked.

“I did,” I told her. “I saw the most lovely pumpum.”

Gloria jumped back like she’d been electrocuted. “You what?” she said, laughing.

“I saw a gorgeous pumpum. In fact, I’ve got a photo of it on my phone. Would you like to see?”

“No, sir,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, sir, I would not.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

And with that, she went off back to the kitchen, giggling and mumbling to herself.

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